Mirror of Yamsid
by LuminereLucifer
Summary: A/U That takes place on the other side of the Mirror of Erised, inspired by that one tumblr post. One-Shot, at least for now. This may go through an edit in the near or distant future.


Harry was infatuated with Hogwarts.

The school had introduced a new "open day", an opportunity for families who were anxious about sending their children away from home to be shown around a few months before the first term. Despite the fact that Harry had made quite clear he wasn't nervous in the slightest, Lily and James had jumped at the chance to visit their old home again. So it was that they arrived in the crowded Great Hall on August 1st, exactly one month before Harry was due to start his first term at Hogwarts. The room was bustling with people, and the buzz of excited talk only served to rekindle Harry's eagerness.

"It's just how I remember it." Harry's mother was saying, sounding pleased, as she eyed her surroundings with a sort of wistful affection. She glanced up, and Harry followed suit, and was fascinated by the patches of cloud floating across the surface of the ceiling, which was cornflower blue, identical to the summer skies outside. She caught him looking, and grinned at him. "It's enchanted, Harry. It always takes on the same appearance as the sky outside. I expect it will look quite different the next time you see it. You should be able to see the stars."

"Know-it-all." James addressed his son in a theatrical whisper. Harry stifled a laugh, and Lily made a _tsk_ing noise, though she seemed amused.

"Of course, I didn't see much of it on my first day, what with all of the water dripping into my eyes." She said dryly, but it was clear to Harry that she was joking. James gasped, mock-hurt, and clutched a hand to his chest dramatically.

"I am shocked! Are you insinuating that Sirius and I capsized your boat on _purpose_?! " As they drifted, still bickering good-naturedly, through the pulsing, chattering crowd, Harry was content to silently take in the magnificent room. The four long, wooden tables looked positively massive, seeming even bigger than usual in their current state; bare of cutlery, goblets and plates, and they took up most of the space. He spied a table at the far-end, where he supposed the teachers sat, and was just turning to ask his mother about the pedestal in front of it when a woman bustled up to them, looking harassed, carrying a quill and several pieces of parchment she was struggling to organize. Her hair, which, though it looked as if it had originally been pulled into a tight bun, had somehow come undone, and fell about her face in strands. Despite everything, she still seemed in control, walking with such purpose she almost _marched_.

"Professor McGonnagal!" James greeted her brightly, and she returned his grin with a wry smile. Harry recognized her name; this was the Head of Gryffindor House from his parent's own stories, and inspected her with the undisguised curiosity unique to young children.

"Nice to see you again, too, Mr Potter. Though I think you're old enough to call me Minerva now. And this one is yours?" She gave Harry a surprisingly welcoming smile, since he had expected her, from all the scoldings James had recounted, to be quite severe.

"Growing up to be so much like your father." She told him, obviously eyeing the glasses and the unkempt dark hair they shared.

"Thanks Professor!" Harry beamed back, straightening a little.

"Well, that wasn't necessarily a compliment..." she chuckled and Harry's smile widened, before an older couple approached her asking for directions, and she turned to point them the right way. Harry glanced at his mother to see that she was biting her lip as she took in the throng of families with concern. Harry could see that as well as wizard families, who could be clearly distinguished by their robes, several groups of muggles were looking particularly bewildered, though the majority of their children seemed to be taking to the environment with much more ease. In particular, he spotted a wild haired girl walking ahead of a bemused couple in muggle clothing, chattering non-stop, apparently pointing out various features of the Great Hall to them.

"This is a lot of people to manage, Minerva." Lily was saying, and the Professor was nodding, clearly exasperated, and telling her that they hadn't planned for nearly this many.

"Well, don't trouble yourself over us; we know our way around. We're perfectly capable of showing Harry the castle." McGonnagal looked like she was about to object, only for her to look round at the call of her name. A wizard so short he had been lost in the crowd up until this point, with a shock of white beard and a tall pointed hat was beckoning frantically, and McGonnagal took on a defeated expression.

"Oh, alright," she conceded, and shot James a sharp look, "But you keep him in check, Miss Evans!" And she took off, the crowd enveloping her before Lily could remind her she had stopped being Miss Evans quite some time ago.

The Potter family walked down a deserted corridor, their footsteps echoing in a manner that might have been eerie if Harry was alone. As it was, Harry and his father were deep in conversation; the sight of his old Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had brought to mind a particular incident involving Uncle Peter getting himself shut in a cupboard and mistaken for a boggart, and Harry's father had launched into a animated re-telling of the event at once, with frequent interjections from Lily whenever he tried to exaggerate or big himself up. He had just reached the climax; James was describing how the Proffessor had in fact shouted "Riddikulus!" at James' friend as he burst from his hiding space, prompting him to sprout a large, whiskery beard, which he promptly tripped over, when Harry spied of a door left ajar, and slowed marginally. All of the doors along the hall had been shut tight, but Harry, whose family had stopped to greet every passing ghost or point out each significant painting, had hardly had a spare moment to wonder what was behind each one. In truth, he'd just assumed they were classrooms, but there was something about this room that drew Harry in.

James probably would've kept walking, so invested in his own tale, but Lily noticed Harry's pause, and motioned to the door; "Want to see inside?" Harry nodded, a little surprised, and his mother gave a sly grin. "I'm not completely unadventurous you know. Your father didn't have all the fun," she strode past her son, pushing open the door and entering without hesitation. "Besides, it's only a classroom." Harry slipped in behind her in time to catch her wrinkling her nose at the dust and cobwebs. "It doesn't look like it's been used for a while." Just then, James appeared in the doorway, eyes darting around as he took in the space with confusion.

"Your mother's right, mate. There's nothing here."

The youngest Potter, however, wasn't listening. In the far corner of the room, something tall loomed, and draped over it was an old ragged sheet, disguising its exact shape. The thing was tucked away, as if to make it inconspicuous, but to Harry, it was the most striking object in the room. Without realising what he was doing, he found himself moving towards it, enthralled, as if it had some kind of gravitational pull. By this point, his parents had also observed it, and fell into step behind him, reasoning that anything too dangerous would not in fact be left in an unlocked classroom for anyone to chance upon, and that even if it was life-threatening, they were both there to protect him. That, and they both _really _wanted to see what was underneath the sheet.

"I've never seen this before." James sounded taken aback; almost affronted that there was a secret the Marauders had failed to discover about Hogwarts while they attended it.

"Maybe it's new." Lily murmured vaguely, coming to a halt, eyeing it up and down with clear scrutiny, before she reached out a hand and gave a sharp tug, removing the sheet in one smooth movement.

The first thing that caught Harry's eyes were the words. Inscribed with care and precision, the letters were recognizable, but he couldn't make sense of the words; _"_yamsid tsepe edru oyt ubf lseru oyt oner ehees." As his gaze traveled down, he was slightly startled by the pair of vivid green eyes, and only then did it register in his mind that he was looking at a mirror. This shouldn't have been a ground-breaking epiphany, but the longer he held his own stare, the more he felt something was _off_ somehow. He titled his head, oddly mystified, and his likeness copied him, his face darkened slightly by the grime on the glass.

Before he could consider what was off-putting about a simple mirror, Lily spoke up; "I think I know what this is." Harry felt a comforting hand lain on his shoulder, and looked up to meet her gaze through the mirror, only to find himself staring at empty space. Rattled, he stared, uncomprehending, for a fraction of a second before glancing round sharply only to find his mother still there, smiling gently down at him, a knowing look in her eyes. He blinked up at her in confusion for a couple of moments, before he voiced his question.

"Why can't I see you guys in the mirror?"

There was a somberness in Lily's expression, and she gave a rueful sigh as she ruffled her son's hair. James cleared his throat.

"Son, we have something to tell you." He was uncharacteristically serious, adjusting his glasses in a deliberate sort of way, and clearing his throat as if he was about to make a long speech. "You see..." His voice changed, suddenly. "Ve are vampires, you zee!" He gave a maniacal cackle, and Harry felt some of the tension in the air dissipate.

Lily, meanwhile, smacked her husband upside the head.

"_Please, _James. Besides, you don't dress well enough to be a vampire." She gave his untidy jumper and scuffed-up shoes a scornful look.

"That is a vicious stereotype!" James cried, clearly violated, eliciting a doubtful "Vicious?" from Lily. "Besides, my dress sense is envied by every-"

_"__Dad._"

"Oh, right, Harry, of course."

"That mirror," Lily explained, suppressing a sigh directed at James, "Is not ordinary. Though I suppose that much is obvious." Harry nodded, listening intently. "It shows you your fears, Harry. Or rather, your deepest dismay. What you see in that mirror is what would destroy you, damage you beyond repair..." She paused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "When you look into that mirror, Harry, you see yourself without us; your worst fear, whether you know it or not."

Harry took a moment to absorb this, gazing unseeing into the middle-distance. _My worst fear... _Distractedly, he turned to face his mirror-image again, putting a hand up to the glass this time.

The Boy Who Lived stared unblinking back at him.

This time, Harry noticed distinctions he hadn't caught sight of before. The Harry in the mirror was slouched slightly, did not stand with the self-assurance. This Harry looked like he'd missed some meals, he was scrawny, almost worryingly so, and the real Harry suspected he was a few inches shorter, to boot. Leaning forward to inspect more closely, he could also discern what appeared to be a jagged scar, half-hidden by a lock of the same uncooperative dark hair he was intimately familiar with. These nuances perplexed the boy; he couldn't explain them, reckoned they had something to do with his fear. Maybe there was more to it than just being an orphan? But there was another difference still, the chill that ran down his spine whenever he met his own eyes. As senseless as it sounded, he had avoided his own gaze since first identifying the mirror; there was something unnerving about it. The word "haunted" surfaced in his mind. He tried to disregard it.

"Without you?" He heard himself mumble, as if someone else was speaking. He hadn't turned; didn't want to, felt irrationally like if he did so, he'd be abandoning the outcast on the other side of the glass, leaving part of himself trapped in a world where he was isolated, dispirited, and most of all, dreadfully alone. A very small, very illogical part of him wanted to smash through the mirror, but that would do no good, he told , he forced himself to face his parents again. They had moved closer together and were holding hands now, watching him expectantly, apparently waiting for him to speak. After the silence had stretched out considerably, he did.

"That boy looks so sad."


End file.
